mar the mucous hue of her lovely green gown with lobster bisque. I wait in tortured silence, ball pumping left-handed.
“Actually, let me modify slightly what I said before. Ms. Van Clief learned how hard it was to buy a car outright no matter how much she was offering. So, she sweetened the deal.” Rita belches so loudly several people at the bar look over at us. I’m startled to see how the bar has filled up without my noticing.
“Pardon me. Good soup.”
You could knock me over with a feather that she’s excused herself. “Go on,” I urge her.
“She said she would leave the car for them at the airport of a certain city so they could collect the car back.”
“How do you know this? Why would she do that? It would make her easy to trace.”
“Regarding your first question, I immediately put an ad in the paper and on the Internet with a healthy reward for information about the transaction at the airport. Sifted through the phonies. Got the true response yesterday. A Sam Brandt said he got paid $12,000 cash for ‘this crazy chick’ to borrow his truck to drive it to the Denver airport. She said the truck would be in long-term parking as close as she could get it to the exit in four days. The truck’s worth $9,000 at most, so he figured it was a good deal even if she trashed it. His buddy already drove him out there to pick it up and the truck is back in Chicago safe and sound without a scratch on it.” I’m nearly speechless with excitement. It’s difficult to calm my breathing. My fingers rake through my hair in an uncharacteristic betrayal of agitation.
“Go on.” I’m proud that I sound so in control. But Rita is lapping at her Johnny Walker like a thirsty hound home from the hunt. This continues for quite some time. Oh, God, the eyelids are closing. I’m on my feet, waving for the waiter. He’s already on his way with a tray full of ribeye. Perhaps some food will soak up enough alcohol so she’ll get the rest of the story out. The waiter fusses with setting up Rita’s dinner and asks me whether I want another Glenlivet. I wave him away impatiently.
“OK. She is or was in Denver. What else did you find out?” But I may as well have been talking to my fork. Rita is attacking her very rare ribeye with unbridled enthusiasm. Her bites are enormous. Blood from the meat runs down her chin. She chews with her mouth open. I, who just murdered a man recently, find this a far gorier display. I must avert my eyes. Finally, able to take no more, my hands grip hers firmly across the table mid-bite.
“Rita, I must know this minute. What happened next?”
“Oh, of course,” she says, putting down her fork. “So, your second question—why would she let us know where she was going—well, it does narrow it down. She was getting a little desperate at the airport. She must have felt time was running out. We now know she went west, not east. I have people checking airlines, bus and train stations in Denver. She could be in Denver, but I doubt it. Still, we’ll check the runaway underground in Denver to be thorough. There are a lot of other big cities out west. My bet’s still on Los Angeles or Vegas, though.”
My pulse is finally slowing down to its normal rate. This is excellent news. I sit back in my seat with a jubilant sigh and Rita returns to her huge bites of ribeye. I’m not as confident as the tracker that the Van Clief girl has left Colorado. A thousand miles is a long distance for a young girl to travel alone and she may—
My thoughts are interrupted by odd sounds coming from the tracker. They’re kind of barking, gagging, coughing sounds. Oh, I see. It seems one of those gigantic pieces of ribeye was not properly chewed and is now stuck in her throat. Retribution for nasty manners. She’s turning red now and clutching at her throat. Starting toward a purple hue now. Interesting, I thought her eyes couldn’t bulge more than they already do naturally. They’re looking at me. Bugging
“Actually, let me modify slightly what I said before. Ms. Van Clief learned how hard it was to buy a car outright no matter how much she was offering. So, she sweetened the deal.” Rita belches so loudly several people at the bar look over at us. I’m startled to see how the bar has filled up without my noticing.
“Pardon me. Good soup.”
You could knock me over with a feather that she’s excused herself. “Go on,” I urge her.
“She said she would leave the car for them at the airport of a certain city so they could collect the car back.”
“How do you know this? Why would she do that? It would make her easy to trace.”
“Regarding your first question, I immediately put an ad in the paper and on the Internet with a healthy reward for information about the transaction at the airport. Sifted through the phonies. Got the true response yesterday. A Sam Brandt said he got paid $12,000 cash for ‘this crazy chick’ to borrow his truck to drive it to the Denver airport. She said the truck would be in long-term parking as close as she could get it to the exit in four days. The truck’s worth $9,000 at most, so he figured it was a good deal even if she trashed it. His buddy already drove him out there to pick it up and the truck is back in Chicago safe and sound without a scratch on it.” I’m nearly speechless with excitement. It’s difficult to calm my breathing. My fingers rake through my hair in an uncharacteristic betrayal of agitation.
“Go on.” I’m proud that I sound so in control. But Rita is lapping at her Johnny Walker like a thirsty hound home from the hunt. This continues for quite some time. Oh, God, the eyelids are closing. I’m on my feet, waving for the waiter. He’s already on his way with a tray full of ribeye. Perhaps some food will soak up enough alcohol so she’ll get the rest of the story out. The waiter fusses with setting up Rita’s dinner and asks me whether I want another Glenlivet. I wave him away impatiently.
“OK. She is or was in Denver. What else did you find out?” But I may as well have been talking to my fork. Rita is attacking her very rare ribeye with unbridled enthusiasm. Her bites are enormous. Blood from the meat runs down her chin. She chews with her mouth open. I, who just murdered a man recently, find this a far gorier display. I must avert my eyes. Finally, able to take no more, my hands grip hers firmly across the table mid-bite.
“Rita, I must know this minute. What happened next?”
“Oh, of course,” she says, putting down her fork. “So, your second question—why would she let us know where she was going—well, it does narrow it down. She was getting a little desperate at the airport. She must have felt time was running out. We now know she went west, not east. I have people checking airlines, bus and train stations in Denver. She could be in Denver, but I doubt it. Still, we’ll check the runaway underground in Denver to be thorough. There are a lot of other big cities out west. My bet’s still on Los Angeles or Vegas, though.”
My pulse is finally slowing down to its normal rate. This is excellent news. I sit back in my seat with a jubilant sigh and Rita returns to her huge bites of ribeye. I’m not as confident as the tracker that the Van Clief girl has left Colorado. A thousand miles is a long distance for a young girl to travel alone and she may—
My thoughts are interrupted by odd sounds coming from the tracker. They’re kind of barking, gagging, coughing sounds. Oh, I see. It seems one of those gigantic pieces of ribeye was not properly chewed and is now stuck in her throat. Retribution for nasty manners. She’s turning red now and clutching at her throat. Starting toward a purple hue now. Interesting, I thought her eyes couldn’t bulge more than they already do naturally. They’re looking at me. Bugging
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